My Brother
by Darkhymns
Summary: He lies on the floor, his eyes so hazy, but the ale does not take away the pain. Caramon knows the dark nature of his brother, yet the truth is always so hard to bear...


**Little one-shot for Dragonlance once more, focused on both Caramon and Raistlin, because I adore those two. :D It's a dumb little writing I suddenly put down one day.**

**And if you look at it closely, just between the lines, you may find just a tinge of slashy twincest.**

**I am aware that is strange and creepy...but I love it. Yes, I'm weird. **

**Reviews make me happy, but do what you will. Hope it's enjoyable.**

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_**My Brother  
**__By Darkhymns_

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Raistlin never said it back.

Caramon had always dwelled on this thought, trying to look at it in different angles. It was usually a slow process when he did this, a reason why people when first meeting him took it as a sign of idiocy sometimes, too slow thinking as that of ignorance. But the conclusions he would come up with after careful pondering were sometimes so profound and wise it stunned everyone, including his own close friends.

However, compared to his brother, he was seen as just a dumb and obedient ox.

He found the answer to this one quickly though, why Raistlin never said it back, but he refused to believe it. Denial would flow around him and once more, he turned the thought over, looking for anything else that would point to a different deduction. But the same answer came back to him, again and again and again.

No, that wasn't it. He has to keep looking. He refuses to accept that fact of his brother.

Caramon lay sprawled on the floor, the shoddy flask grasped in his left hand. He had been that way for most of the day, locked inside the house, his wife already at the Inn for work. Her past yells on him made no improvement. He would only glance at her for a second with bleary eyes, then go back to his thoughts once more.

The answer was plain and simple, deeply ingrained into his mind. He knows, yet still he searched for another way.

How would Raistlin react now if he saw him like this? Disgusted, amused maybe, a curl of the lip in a mocking smile. Or perhaps he would not consider this alcoholic slob his brother, leaving him there on the floor in a pitiful heap. Like in the letter Caramon sent him, written words filled with heart and tears, just sent back, unopened, clear letters printed on the envelope stating that Raistlin Majere had no brother.

Caramon could see this all too clearly. In some ways, each knows the other better than anyone else, how they react, how they feel. Yet also, in some ways, they were strangers, that supposed understanding never truly there. Close yet far.

Whatever Raistlin does, he does for his own well-being. Leaning on the strong arm of his warrior brother for aid just to help himself continue. Caramon carries his sick twin because he is needed, that wonderful feeling of another human being reaching out to him. The dependency for each other was their bond, but a fragile one at best.

Caramon, back then as the hopeful youth he was, never tried to think of what would happen when Raistlin would finally be able to walk on his own without his gentle arm. Never when his brother would be his own person, instead of only half. Caramon had deeply thought they would always rely on the other, drawing their strengths.

He remembered Par-Salian's words when they had only begun this delicate balance of dependency, how the twins were two halves of a whole, one person split in twain. Caramon can admit that Raistlin was always his other half, the darker side of him, someone who he fears greatly. But it was that feeling that drew themselves to each other, coveting each twin's strength until they moved as one, even thought as one. So when his brother calls to him, his heart beats joyfully for that need, for becoming whole.

But Raistlin hated it. He wanted to travel his own road and not share with his warrior brother. He wanted strength and power, all that his stronger, better-looking twin had. The magic- something that Caramon could never comprehend- lent him this strength and gave him the stamina to build his own future, even if it had crippled him severely at first. When time went by, their bond faded, replaced by cynical gibes and hurt eyes. Still those times of need came, barely holding them up.

Caramon attempted to sit up on the hardwood floor of his home, only silence pervading the rooms. The murky liquid of ale trickled from the flask's nozzle but he didn't take a swig. He needed to look again and find that different answer, just once more.

Yet Caramon saw the flat hourglass eyes that never expressed their depths to the world. So many times he wanted to know what his brother truly felt, but was frightened of what he might find. Those eyes looked at Caramon in derision at the inferior who was dying right before him.

The warrior had continually tried to help his twin mage, especially when the sickness approached unexpectedly and he would hold his brother close to his chest. He was afraid, these coughing fits that would wrack Raistlin's body in violent spasms. He always feared that one morning he would find his brother lying on the ground motionless with unseeing eyes and the blood pouring out of his mouth. Raistlin would be lost to him forever, his twin gone, his other half vanished.

Then he would be alone.

So Caramon always clings to his brother close, the terrible insults and revulsion given by the mage ignored. The need for another gnawed away his self-dependence because he knows that Raistlin relies on him also.

But truthfully, Caramon deeply cared for his twin, turning the firm warrior into a blubbering mass of flesh, creating that choking affection which Raistlin detested abhorrently. He was so afraid that he refused to see his brother's darkness and his capabilities; the Test where he had seen himself murdered by his brother's hands, left abandoned by his twin to the undead at the Silvanesti forest, twisted by Lorac's dream, and finally at Blood Sea, left behind again, no illusions this time to provide Caramon any excuses for his brother.

None…

Caramon, in a loud cry as that of a wounded animal, threw the flask away, knees and hands on the floor in a crawling position. He couldn't stop the tears coming from his soft, brown eyes. All that he had done for his brother and never a word of gratitude. It was a lifetime of twisted love for each other. But despite the complex relationship, he cared for his twin. He still cares now, no matter what. He still needs him.

One time, Caramon said the words bottled up inside him to his frail brother, tears coming down back then as they did now. There was only the crackling of the campfire and his voice, the only sounds that night. His soul ached for an exchange of hearing his brother speak.

Raistlin never said anything. Instead, he silently turned away, golden eyes narrowed in an unexplained emotion. He refused to talk and Caramon was left to weep quietly, saying those words over and over, hoping, _begging._ But never once had Raistlin responded.

"Raist…" he had whispered, the nickname that only Caramon called him by since childhood and still nothing. And soon there was just the crackling fire left in the silence.

Raistlin had abandoned him and now he was alone. Caramon was alone.

The tears came freely, his body, no longer the strong physique it once was, shuddered at the realization. It was there all along. Raistlin didn't care about him, at least not anymore. The magic had been his only desire, letting it take his mind, burn the heart, promising him power that he now achieved. The mage had only used his trusting brother until he was done; the incident at Blood Sea proved that much.

Everything was twisted beyond recovery now.

Caramon sobbed loudly, no one around to hear his heartbroken cry. No one needed him; not the people of Solace, not his friends, not his wife, Tika…

Not his brother, wrapped in the velvet black of Nuitari, living in that dark, distorted tower of Palanthas. Caramon wasn't needed. He was alone, half of what he was.

"No, Raist…" he weeped quietly, the name almost forbidden now to pass his lips. He wanted to hold his brother once more, to smooth away the white hair, to carry him when he was fatigued, to soothe him tenderly when those nightmares came in the night. Raistlin would always reach out to him at those times, head laid on the broad chest, hearing a strong and steady heartbeat.

But he did not need him anymore.

Caramon clenched his fists, wishing he could break everything around him and take out his hurt, his anger and betrayal. That divulging fear of being alone.

What would he do without him…without Raistlin? He cannot stand on his own, not without him. He wanted to hold him again! Just once more and tell him that he… No…not without him…no…

Raistlin never said the words back…never.

Caramon knew his brother didn't care, but the words, true back then, were still true now, even if he was left alone, all alone.

Raistlin wasn't here.

Caramon sunk his head into his hands, saying those words softly, the ones Raistlin dismissed years ago. This was all he had left. The tears seeped through his fingers, his voice quiet in the cold, dark stillness. All that was left.

Because…

"_Raist…I love you…"_


End file.
